The Chess Game: An Original Short Story

The old clock on the wall ticked quietly, gently marking the passing of time, a nearly imperceptible sound heard over the crackling flames that danced in the fireplace.

The low fire warmed the room, light seeping into dark corners, casting a dull shadow on the walls. Books organized neatly into solemn rows lined the shelves that stood like hulking shadows around the room. Books on history, medicine and philosophy, fairy tales and fantasies, books that explained why people read fairy tales and books that hadn’t been read in a long time. The firelight gleamed on titles written in silvery ink. 

There was one window in the room. It was latched shut to keep out the rain and wind that threatened to break in. For the time being, the thin barrier of glass and metal kept the storm at bay. Outside, the night was cold and forbidding, but inside the small library it was only warmth. 

One wooden table stood by the fireplace. Two people sat across from each other; a young man and an elderly woman, their faces partly lit, partly shadowed. They sat with their heads bowed over the chessboard which lay unfolded between them on the table, the marble pieces frozen in a slow-moving battle. The man gazed intently at the chessboard, his fingers drumming gently on the table as he pondered his strategy. The elderly woman watched as he slowly reached for the knight. She smiled as he placed the chess piece down, taking one of the black rooks. 

“A move you approve of, I see,” the man remarked, leaning back in his chair. 

“You’ve given me a wonderful gift,” the old woman responded, smiling mischievously, moving one of her pawns forward. 

The game continued in companionable silence for a few more minutes, unbroken but for the flames that sparked and hissed by their feet in the hearth. 

“Have you seen our dear Samuel recently?” the old woman inquired, looking up at the young man’s face. 

“He’s very well,” the man replied. 

“Be sure to tell him to visit sometime. It’s so dreary around here without his company,” she said. “Of course, I have you, dear, but it’s not quite the same as it used to be, you know.” 

“Quite,” the young man murmured, frowning at the game revealed before him. The old woman had his king in a difficult corner. 

“You don’t visit so often anymore either, dear” the woman added, giving him a sidelong look. The firelight cast shadows on her wrinkled face, making her appear much older, but her eyes were bright and lively. 

“Margaret, love,” the man said, with a touch of irritation, his fingers dancing just above his few pieces as he calculated his moves, “you know I cannot come all the time. Besides, you’re the one who allows my visits in the first place.” He moved his king out of danger with a satisfied smirk before glancing at the old woman. “If you call, I am obliged to come.” 

“Well, why should I always be the one asking you?” She countered, though her eyes were teasing, “don’t we love each other equally?” 

“Yes, darling,” the man said kindly, “we love each other equally.” 

They looked at each other for a moment. The clock quietly ticked on the wall. 

“You’ve put me in a bind, Margaret,” the young man remarked with a touch of asperity. “If I move my king to the right, you’ll take my castle and inevitably trap my king once again. But if I move him to the left, your queen is prepared to wreak devastation over my insignificant kingdom. You haven’t a merciful bone in your body.” He crossed his arms, looking severely at the board. “Must you kill the game so quickly.” 

“The hour grows late,” the old woman said simply. 

“I’m not the one who needs any sleep,” the man replied. 

They made their next few moves in silence, the dying flames in the hearth casting erratic shadows around the room. The old woman continued the conversation as though there had been no pause.

“And when I am sleeping, where do you go?”

The young man kept his eyes on the board, his brow creased in concentration, responded, “When have I ever left your side,” 

The woman smiled slightly, “you are ever sure of yourself.” 

The man glanced up at her. He raised one hand gently to her wrinkled face, her skin like thin paper, and stroked her cheek fondly. The old woman smiled widely, showing teeth, miraculously neat and white between her wasted lips. They sat that way for a moment, his large, steady hand placed warmly against her cheek, the two figures silhouetted dramatically against the flickering light, one straight-backed and tall, one hunched and shrunken. 

Shadows threatened to overtake the man’s expression as they gazed at each other, the fire’s glow reaching the old woman’s face clearly but leaving his faded and darkened. He appeared almost phantasmic now, vanishing away as the flames shrank to embers, as though his hold on earth was rooted in the blackened wood, the final refuge of the dying light. The old woman closed her eyes as she raised a veined hand and placed it on his, clasping the hand that caressed her cheek. 

The rain pelted the window urgently, the raindrops sharply falling against the glass like bullets. The storm angrily lashed against the house. 

The old woman opened her eyes and sighed. The moments were so few now and like so many times before, she never could say everything she hoped to. Instead of speaking, she simply moved her knight on the chessboard. 

The man’s eyes dropped to the board. He cursed softly, crossing his arms as he leaned back again into his chair. 

“Damn it, Margaret,” he said, “Do let a man finish his battle with some dignity in place.” Scowling, he moved a pawn forward. “Show some sportsmanship!” 

The old woman slyly smiled and moved her queen forward. “Checkmate, dear.” 

The man sat still for a moment, his eyes flickering over the board as he began to comprehend her strategy. He narrowed his eyes and glanced sharply up at the old woman’s laughing face. Heaving a sigh of defeat, he knocked his own king over. 

A sudden gust of wind rattled the window violently then burst through the latch, blowing the curtains wildly aside. Books that lay on the table shuddered and fell open, the wind whipping through the pages, tearing the paper. The fire, already low, blew out suddenly and ash leapt into the quickly cooling air, small whirlwinds of black dust that stained the old woman’s slippers. The once cozy, warm room was extinguished abruptly as the cold air raced through the library, frigid fingers touching the old woman’s exposed face. Rain blew through the broken window. Within seconds, half of the room was soaked by the rain. 

Still, the old woman sat in her chair, unmoved by the intrusion of the storm. She slowly gathered the chess pieces and began to reset the board. Her white hair which sat in soft tufts on her head was tangled and damp but she paid no notice to it. In fact, she gave no sign at all that the room barely resembled the comfortable den it was moments before. Now, books lay destroyed by the rain and a puddle began to form by the window. The wind lashed raindrops against the old woman’s face, small rivulets running down her sunken cheeks, but she simply placed the chess pieces deliberately in their original squares. 

“Another round?” She murmured. But she spoke only to herself in the cold, wet room. 

The young man’s seat was now empty. His side of the board had been reset, the pawns facing the old woman as though waiting orders. 

A young man pushed open the wooden library doors and quietly entered the room. He was not the same man as before, but bore a striking resemblance, tall and dark, with an open, friendly face. His gaze fell upon the old woman who sat alone at the chessboard, the fireplace filling the room with a cheerful glow. Books on everything filled the shelves that reached the ceiling, beckoning him to read. The clock on the wall ticked monotonously. 

He watched as the woman surveyed the chess game freshly set before her. She was exactly where he had left her hours before, starting game after another, as though she were in tournament with herself. He sighed, turning away from the sight of his elderly mother playing a lonely game of chess. As he closed the door silently behind him, the old woman pulled her shawl closer around her thin shoulders and wiped the rain from her face.